


My Pleasure

by Sulla



Category: Sherlock (BBC)
Genre: M/M, Rape Role-playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: My Pleasure<br/>Author: sulla_<br/>Rating: NC-17<br/>Prompt: Anon on the Kinkmeme - Sherlock has a rape fantasy and asks John to indulge it. Which John does, incredibly reluctantly, but it's what Sherlock wants, even if it kind of breaks John's heart to do so. This got a little off track at the end, and John ended up enjoying himself, eek! I couldn't control them, they went rampent in my head!<br/>Disclaimer: I do not own these characers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: rape role-play. And possible talk of previous non-consensual sexual experiences. Do not read if this will upset you.*  
> (sorry, no beta or brit-pick, hope it's not too bad and full of Canadianisms! I did spell-check though, so hopefully that helps)

***

John pauses, pinching his nose and slowly shaking his head. "Is this really what you want...?" he trailed off on the question, sounding so conflicted that Sherlock whipped his eyes around to capture those of his lover. Sherlock paused again, never breaking eye contact for moment. "Yes John. I have long desired this experience, but it is only now that I feel that I have found someone I could trust implicitly. I feel that person is you."

After a long moment of silence, John spoke again, nearly inaudible. "Well, to be honest, while I'm turned off by the idea of actually committing in reality such a crime, and consider it to be an abomination, I have long wondered if I might enjoy certain consensual roleplaying games, and this is one of the roles which I may have entertained."

Sherlock leaned over on the sofa that they were currently sharing, sitting a foot or two apart, bodies facing straight forward as opposed to toward each other, indicating the unease which the conversation has caused the two of them.

"Entertained? Do you mean you have entertained it with someone else?" A flash of jealous, piercing grey eyes pinned John to his seat and John's heart-rate doubled.

"No, no, nothing like that. More entertained mentally, when...alone. You know." John blushed, feeling the tips of his ears burning.

"Ah...Perhaps there is hope after all," Sherlock replied with a somewhat smug smirk.

John looked away, and then down at his hands again. "Are you sure, Sherlock, absolutely sure that this would not be a very, very bad idea?"

"110% sure."

"And you'll tell me to stop, if it gets to be too much?"

"Well no, you fool, I want you to keep going if I tell you to stop! That's kind the point of the scene, John," he added, slightly mocking in is tone of voice. "But I'll give you a safeword - if a say that word, it really means to stop. Is that alright?"

John was silent for a few more minutes, contemplating. What could be causing Sherlock to want this? As a doctor, John thought of the various things he had learned in sexual and mental health seminars which pointed out that many proponents of rape roleplay have actually been raped in the past, and find the role-play as a way to work through the experience with someone they can trust, and in fact come to "own" the experience.

John took a deep breath. "You know, if you want to tell me anything, anything at all, that has happened to you in the past, I won't think any less of you, and I also promise not to coddle you or treat you in any way different -"

"John!" Sherlock interrupted. "You're going too deeply with this! It's a simple request, and there's no dark secret for you to worry about. I just want to be taken okay? Is that so much to ask?" sniffed the Dective.

John sighed. "No, Sherlock, it's not. Okay then - what's your safe-word?"

Silence for a moment as Sherlock thought through various scenarios. Finally, "Mycroft!" which came out a yell, making John jump nearly out of his seat. "That's the word. If I ever, ever say that name during sex, you know right then that I want to stop. Painfully obvious, isn't it?" smirked Sherlock.

John smiled slightly. "Well, it would certainly grab my attention, you yelling 'Mycroft' in the middle of sex. Yes, I think that will work to bring things to an abrupt halt."

For a few more moments, the pair planed a scene for later that day. Sherlock was already worked up, and somewhat ready to go already, but John felt he needed a few hours to pull himself into character.

"All right then, I'm going out to pick up tea and milk. Anything you need?"

Sherlock was already halfway to his room. "No, I think not."

"All right, see you soon then..."

Silence greeted him, and John shrugged and made his way to the local Tesco, his mind whirling around and around the scenario that would play out when he returned. He was glad he was wearing a jacket - zipped up, it covered his erection quite well, he thought.

***

When John arrived back at the flat, the lights had been turned off, had been planned. He threw the box of tea on the kitchen counter beside the jar of picked gallbladders and stashed the milk as far from the bowl with the severed thumb as possible.

There was dead silence in the flat. John slipped off his shoes, and his trousers for good measure, leaving him in his boxers and a button-down shirt only. He picked up the padded handcuffs which Sherlock had been good enough to lay out for him on the coffee table, and with a deep breath, he made his way to Sherlock's room as quietly as possible. He pressed an ear to the door. A light snoring sound could be heard.

Ok, so far everything was going according to plan. John found himself paused on the threshold of opening the door though; he still felt conflicted. Would he be able to pull this off? Was it really a safe thing to do? It was absolutely clear that Sherlock wanted it, very much in fact. But John's ever-present sense of morals and ethics would not desert him, even now, when he had permission.

Well, Sherlock had been so insistent, and John wanted to please him, so he found himself opening the door to Sherlock's bedroom as quietly as possible. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, barely making a noise at all. The light snores had stopped however, and John could only hear quiet breathing.

This was it. All or nothing. Into the breach, my friend.

John went to the side of the bed in the moonlit room, where he found that Sherlock was lying on his stomach, faced away from him, arms down by his sides above the covers. This was as they had discussed, for ease of the first step - incapacitating Sherlock.

He gently, silently, brought both of Sherlock's hands behind his back, and quickly cuffed the wrists together. The click of the metal locking together made Sherlock snort himself "awake".

"Wha..."

At that moment, John lept onto the bed, straddling the other man's legs, and clapped a hand over the Detective's mouth. "Shhhh..." he whispered.

"Ummf?"

"Quiet. I mean it. I will gag you if I have to." This was of course an empty threat - John had no intention of gagging Sherlock. How else would he be able to hear the safeword? "Will you be quiet? I have you comepletely incapacitated in your bed. Be quiet, and things may go well for you. Be loud, and, well, you become a liability." This all whispered in a greedy, hungry and growly voice John had dug up from somewhere deep inside.

Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

"Good boy. Keep being good, and you may even enjoy yourself." Sherlock's eyes widened in apparent fear.

John quickly set to work, pulling the covers down the bed, revealing Sherlock's beautiful body, clad only in boxer shorts. Sherlock started breathing harder, obviously expecting what was to come, but keeping quiet as he was told. When John went to remove the boxers, Sherlock whimpered quietly, causing John to smirk all the more.

"You're not," whispered the detective, "you're not going to..."

John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlocks exposed ear, "Yes, yes I am, Sherlock, and you're going to love it, boy."

"No...." It was a plaintive whisper the momentarily shook John's resolve. How could he go on with this? It was just so ingrained in John - a partner says 'no', you damn well stop! But, as Sherlock would surely remind him, this was part of the game...

He had pulled the boxers completely off of the other man, and was now running his hands over Sherlock's buttocks and squeezing them roughly, one in each palm. Pulling the two globes apart and then back together again, watching that tight, furled hole appear and disappear.

"I'm here for me tonight, Sherlock. And don't ask me how I know your name. I know all the names of the filthy sluts in London. And you're one of the filthiest." He sucked one finger into his mouth and used the spit the rub around the twitching hole. "I bet you'd still like some lube, though, right? And no fear, my boy, I don't do filthy whores like you without a condom."

Sherlock shuddered violently beneath John with those words, but said not a word. John grabbed the lube and condom from the bedside table where they had been left and he quickly got to work opening up Sherlock's arse for a good pounding. He started staight with two fingers, with no warning, and the lube was cold.

"No, please" Sherlock whispered

"Mmmm, yes please, Sherlock."

He worked the lube deeply into Sherlock's arse and slicked his cock with the stuff before rolling on a condom, and applying lube once again. He slipped his fingers back into the whimpering man beneath him, three fingers this time.

"Your arse is so tight, Sherlock. How does a cockslut such as yourself keep yourself so tight? There's special exercises for that, isn't there?"

John was by this time quite desperate himself to enter Sherlock, and the Detective himself was pumping his hips against the mattress in time with the thrusts of John's fingers. John shoved his free hand down and under Sherlock, and was very, very happy to find that Sherlock was hard as a rock, and dripping pre-come copiously.

"Here, boy, up on your knees, arse in the air. Lean on your shoulder for balance. That's right, that's a good slut." John was fairly panting the words in his arousal. He knelt between John's legs and lined his erection up with the loosened hole beckoning him from between Sherlock's cheeks. Shoving slowly but with determination, the tip of John's cock entered Sherlock's hole, just the head at first, and John waited for the other man to adjust for a moment.

"Why...why are you doing this to me... please stop," Sherlock croaked from a rough-sounding throat.

"And why would I do that, Sherlock? You feel sooooo good." On the last word, John shoved into Sherlock with all his might, burying himself to the hilt, his balls slapping Sherlock's perineum.

"UNH!" The noise escaped Sherlock's mouth like a gunshot.

Buried deep in Sherlock's pulsing arse, John forgot all about the 'need to keep quiet'. The sound sounded so good to him that he wanted to hear it again. He pulled all the way out again and once again slammed into his lover.

"UNGH - God!"

John, suddenly feeling a little guilty at having lost himself there for a moment, slowed down, and started a slow, languid pace, sliding blissfully in and out of Sherlocks velvet-soft, lube-slick hole. He reached under the other man, and was happy to find that Sherlock's erection had not flagged, and when he gripped it, and pumped it twice, Sherlock made this garbled noise that indicated that he was close to climax.

John was close himself, so he kept stroking Sherlock's cock until, with a spluttered and broken set of grunts, the detective climaxed beneath him. John was instantly assaulted by waves of constriction as the other man's rectum spasmed around him, and his cock was milked quite violently of it's load.

Sherlock, apparently unable to hold his position any longer, collapsed on the bed in a sticky pile, pulling John, who was still inside him, down with him.

"Oh god. Oh god," panted John. "That was... that was..." he suddenly came to his senses. "How was it for you, Sherlock?"

"It would be a good deal better if you were not lying on my handcuffed arms and digging the metal into my wrists..."

John jumped back fast, inadvertently pulling out of Sherlock's arsehole a little to fast for his liking. "Shit, sorry Sherlock, let me uncuff you." He groped for the keys in the bedside table where he knew they would be and let the other man free.

Sherlock stretched out languidly on the bed, turning over to face John, who was half afraid that his friend was going to be terribly upset, or angry, or hurt... but was surprised to find him smirking cheekily.

"That was more fun than you thought it would be, wasn't it John?"

John flushed slightly. "Well, erm, yes."

We must do it again sometime. Maybe wake me up one of these days with it. And I must compliment you on your dirty talk - I would not have thought you had it in you. Congrats."

"It was my pleasure," murmured John, already making plans for the morning.


End file.
